


Interruptus

by PoppyAlexander



Series: Road to Home [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cell Phones, Cunnilingus, F/M, Funny, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Missionary Position, Polyamory, Series Spoilers, Spoilers, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wednesdays are not Sherlock's day; so why does he keep calling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interruptus

**Author's Note:**

> Related stories begin with "In Scandinavia," then "Date Mates," both of which are set in the same timeline as the "Road To Home" series of which this story is a part.
> 
> I reserve the "Explicit" rating for non-con/extreme violence/triggers, etc, but use "Mature" for stories that contain even graphic depictions of sex between consenting adults. This story contains sexually graphic language.

Wednesday. 11:50am

TXT from SH: Bring the jewels to Scotland Yard at once.

“Shut that bloody thing off,” Donna scolded. “I’m meeting Gwen for lunch at one, so we don’t have much time.” She was stepping out of her uncomfortable-but-worth-it nude pumps, undoing the buttons at the collar of her blouse.

John set the phone on the mirrored bedside table. “I have to keep it on,” he protested mildly, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping off his loafers, “In case of an emergency.”

“You worry too much,” Donna said. “You don’t have to be on call every minute of the day.”

TXT from SH: Lestrade says he will place me under arrest if you don’t bring the jewels here, directly.

Donna grabbed the phone before John could get his hands on it. “Wednesdays are my time,” she reminded him. She started typing into John’s mobile, stopped to glance at John with a sly smile. “Get your kit off, Doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and started to pull his shirt up over his head.

TXT from DrJW221B: Wednesdays are mine, Sherlock. Piss off. Luv, D.

TXT from SH: I have a ticket to the symphony tonight; I do not have time to be arrested.

TXT from DrJW221B: Tell Lestrade he’ll have to come arrest me cos I am going to MURDER YOU.

Donna chucked the phone back onto the table. John, now stripped down to his boxer shorts, looked hungrily at her and pulled her by the waist toward him, nuzzled his face against her breasts, reached for the hem of her camisole and began to slide it up over her head. Donna ran her hands over his shoulders, his biceps. She let him take off her camisole, then reached for the zip at the back of her skirt and tugged it down. She let the skirt fall onto the carpet and then knelt on the bed, her knees on either side of John’s hips. He hummed pleasantly against her neck.

Donna teased the edges of John’s lips with her tongue. He glanced toward the phone when it sounded again, and she grabbed him by the chin.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I promise, I’ll get rid of him.” He reached for the phone.

TXT from G_Lestrade: I expect this from Sherlock, but not from you. It can’t wait anymore. You must bring them today. Immediately.

TXT from DrJW221B: Sorry, Greg. Give me a little time to put hands on them. Not sure where they are at the moment.

Donna reached behind her and unfastened her bra, let it fall. John caught his breath. “God, you’re lovely,” he told her. “Where are they, by the way?”

“I left them with Mrs Hudson for safekeeping. You knew that.”

“Right. Sorry. I remember now that you told me.”

TXT from G_Lestrade: What do you mean you don’t know where they are?!

“John, for god’s sake,” Donna breathed. She put her hand on his wrist, pushing it away toward the side table so he would put the phone down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Just—“ he typed quickly. “—this last one.”

TXT from DrJW221B: They’re safe; I promise. Please let Sherlock go and I’ll bring them tom? or Fri???

Donna crawled off John’s lap and around him, to lay on the bed behind him. She raised her hips and slid off her panties, tossed them over John’s shoulder, where they landed in his lap. He lay the phone back on the table and moved to lie beside her, looked down the length of her pale, naked body.

“Oo-er, Missus,” he grinned, sliding the palm of his hand lightly over her breasts, making her candy-pink nipples harden.

The phone’s text alert sound went. Then a second time.

“You will live to regret it, if you reach for that thing,” Donna warned, and John responded by lazily, teasingly, tracing his fingertips down along her belly to the crease of her hip. He leaned to kiss her, pushing her lips apart with his tongue.

“I’m all yours,” he said quietly. They kissed again, and Donna’s arms went around him, stroking his back. She let out a long breath, relaxing tense muscles, melting between the mattress and John’s body. He broke away from their kiss and began to move down, nuzzling her neck, circling her nipple with his tongue and making her gasp, nipping her with his teeth on her side, just where her waist curved in.

His phone started ringing.

Donna growled, “EERRRGGGHHH.”

John murmured against her hip, “Nevermind it.” He coaxed her thighs apart with his hands, pressed her knees back. He slipped his tongue between her lips to flick against her clit and Donna moaned luxuriantly, raked her fingers in his hair, let her hands come to rest on his shoulders.

The phone quieted.

 John moved to press two fingers inside her, twisting upward.

Donna sighed, “Yes. . .”

The phone started again.

“Don’t stop,” she muttered, and threw her arm out, feeling for the phone, which was vibrating its way across the table. John closed his mouth around her clit and hummed against her; Donna inhaled sharply, sounding surprised. He made a satisfied sound and went back to sliding his tongue softly up and down.

Donna held the phone up in front of her face to check the display.

Incoming CALL from Sherlock Holmes.

She tapped, “Answer,” and huffed, “WHAT, Sherlock?!”

“Is John going to bring those jewels to the Yard or not? Lestrade refuses to let me leave until they are brought here. This is extremely inconvenient—“

“Sherlock,” Donna began, trying to steady her voice, for now John had found that wondrous spot inside her and was stroking it in time with the movements of his mouth, and Donna’s thighs were starting to shake. “What day is this?”

“It’s Wednesday. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Is Wednesday—“ she dropped her arm out to the side, stifled a cry. John hummed again and it was nearly a laugh. Donna lifted the phone up again. “Is Wednesday your day?”

“Donna.”

“Sherlock, I swear if you don’t stop—don’t! stop!—bothering us I’m going to make you very sorry.”

“Put John on.”

Donna held the phone down by John’s ear and muttered, “Sherlock for you.”

John began to moan and hum appreciatively, his sounds muffled, but unmistakable. Donna wriggled against him, mewed a little.

They could both hear Sherlock shouting down the phone, “What is that? What are you doing?” Donna laughed, then yelped as John made an ingenious movement with his fingers. “Oh, for god’s sake!” Sherlock protested. “We have an agreement!” He rang off.

Donna let the phone drop beside them on the bed; now she was close, her thighs thrumming, her clit burning beneath John’s deft and clever tongue, his fingertips inside her stroking the root of it. She grasped the back of his head, pulled him closer, came with a loud, high cry, her hips rolling. John paused to let the wave pass through her, pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit and she was off again, moaning deeply this time, her thighs tensing closer to the sides of his head.

When she had quieted, John drew back, kissed the inside of one of her thighs, moved toward the drawer of the bedside table, reaching inside for a condom. Donna raised herself up to kiss his chest, his shoulder, nuzzled her nose against the tender, hypersensitive skin of his scar, making his breath catch.

As John knelt between Donna’s splayed legs, unrolling the condom onto his aching cock, the text alert sounded again. Donna whimpered in frustration, reached for the phone and looked at the display to find two texts they’d ignored, and a new one. John hitched her knees up around his elbows and began to guide himself into her.

TXT from SH: They’re going to make me sit in a room with Donovan all afternoon if you don’t come at once.

TXT from SH: What are you doing that’s so damned important?

TXT from SH: We have an agreement. That was not even remotely amusing.

Donna’s breath was heaving in time with John’s thrusts. She shifted her hips a bit and his cock stroked back and forth over just the right spot inside her; her voice lowered to deep moans. She forgot the phone in her hand until it started to ring again.

“Dammit!” John panted.

“Don’t stop,” Donna urged.

Incoming CALL from Sherlock Holmes.

It took her three tries, but she tapped “Answer” again and threatened, “I’m going to send you a picture, Sherlock.”

“You’re not done yet? It’s the middle of the day.”

“PISS. OFF.”

Donna flung the phone away; it slid partway across the mattress and dropped off the edge, with a tiny thud on the carpet.

“Forget it,” John muttered. He turned his head a bit and kissed her instep, ran his tongue along the arch of her foot. After a few minutes, John urged Donna over, laying back so she could straddle him, and once she was grinding on his cock, it wasn’t long before they were both coming, John’s hands grasping at Donna’s hips, Donna leaning down to press her breasts against his mouth, shuddering and sighing, ultimately settling to lie beside him.

They held hands, closed their eyes, got their breath back.

Faraway and quite muffled by the carpet, John’s mobile let off another text alert.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“I know.”

“I mean it!”

“I’ve no doubt.”

John leaned over the edge of the bed, found the phone, came back to rest his head on the pillow. Donna stretched, sat up, started to look for her clothes.

TXT from G_Lestrade: I’ve put Sherlock in handcuffs until you get here. It’s really unacceptable you’ve kept them from us this long. I expect better treatment than this.

Donna went into a drawer for fresh knickers, disappeared into the bathroom, shut the door. John checked the time.

TXT from DrJW221B: I’ll be there in an hour. Apologies, again.

*

Donna got out of the cab near the restaurant where she was meeting her mate. Her hair freshly arranged, make-up touched up, she patted John on the knee, leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek before she left.

“I’ll call you in a couple hours when we’re done,” she said. “Good luck with all this.”

John smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

At the Yard, the driver helped John remove the bundles from the cab, offered to help him carry. John declined, worked it out so he could get everything up to Lestrade’s office in one trip. Overburdened as he was, it was hard not to draw attention, but he demurred offers of help and made his way in the lift, where he fumbled his phone a bit but ultimately got a text off to Lestrade.

TXT from DrJW221B: On my way up. Spring Sherlock plz.

The lift doors slid open and there were the lot of them, huddled around the first desk by the lift, each looking more impatient than the last—Anderson’s foot tapping, Donovan smirking, Lestrade with his hands on his hips, Sherlock standing by with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Sherlock announced, “And at last, here they are, the precious jewels, as promised.” He stepped across to help John, taking the handle of one of the little seats. “Which one is this?”

“Ah—Amy,” John replied, stepping off the lift carrying the other car seat, the diaper bag hanging off his shoulder. “You’ll notice the pink hat and shirt. And little legging. . .things. And socks.” Then he added, “Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.” He swung the car seat he held, just a bit. “So that makes this one Wil.”

There were coos and exclamations of delight; Anderson clapped John on the back, Donovan kissed his cheeks, Lestrade pumped his hand up and down then moved to unbuckle Baby Wil and lifted him up, cradled him in his arms.

“Ah, yes, I remember it well,” he commented.

They were all of them beaming, Sherlock perhaps most of all. John lay a hand in the small of Sherlock’s back, just for a moment.

“You’re parents now,” Sherlock jibed, under his breath, “Shame on your lunchtime rendezvous.”

“It’s Wednesday, Sherlock. Not your day. Mind your business.”

Lestrade piped up. “No cigars, I’m afraid. Nicotine patches all around, though.”

Baby Amy started to wriggle, made an unhappy face, whimpered. Sherlock immediately crouched down to liberate her, stood, tucked her little head under his chin and began to hum, low in his throat. She quieted at once.

“Aw, lookit Uncle Weirdo,” Donovan teased, but not unkindly. She turned to John. “You’re a regular Manson Family, you lot.”

John smiled, “Well, we do all right.”

*

END.


End file.
